


nine-tenths of the law

by eleadore



Series: no looking back now [2]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Jealousy, M/M, Non AU, Romance, The X Factor Era, a hint of D/s
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-26
Updated: 2014-12-26
Packaged: 2018-03-03 17:44:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2859488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eleadore/pseuds/eleadore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis doesn't get jealous.</p>
            </blockquote>





	nine-tenths of the law

They only have ten more minutes on the computer before Katie kicks them off, and Liam’s used up the lion’s share so far. Louis would make a fuss under any other circumstance, but he’s already commandeered the chair, leaving Liam to hunch uncomfortably over the keyboard, and ‘accidentally’ kicked him in the shin every time he took a spin, which was often. He’s not sure how much more abuse Liam can take without blowing up, and Louis’ saving that for when they have a bigger audience. 

But he’s getting impatient. It’s been a slow day; choreography got pushed back because of some scheduling conflict, but no one bothered to tell them until after they’d gotten ready, and now there’s nothing to do but lay about and harass anyone who has the misfortune of making eye contact. Zayn fucked off to nap after Louis got them both banished from the kitchen, and Harry’s been ignoring him all morning in favor of texting his silly friends, bloody glued to his mobile no matter how loud Louis gets or how hard he makes Niall laugh.

It’s not like Louis has been trying to get his attention, or anything. He definitely hasn’t been slapping his thighs every so often to remind Harry that Louis’ lap is very comfortable and also available, or nudge-nudge-nudging their feet together with every spin of the chair and feeling giddy whenever Harry nudges back. Harry’s mouth is quirked in a way that Louis now recognizes to mean he’s trying his hardest not to react, but knowing he’s doing it on purpose doesn’t make Louis want any less.

He’s never felt like this before. Never become frantic over not having someone’s eyes on him, never wanted to touch someone so badly that it manifested into a physical ache, turning his insides heavy. He knows he must be obvious to anyone who bothers to look, but he doesn’t even care.

He steps on Harry’s toes, and Harry draws his foot back until it’s resting against the wall, out of reach. His mouth is twitching. Louis could scoot the chair closer, but he can’t bear to give him the satisfaction, so he spins around instead.

"Stop trying to get at the porn, Liam, there are children present!" he shouts, but Liam only throws one alarmed glance over his shoulder before going back to Facebook.

Louis scoots the chair over to get in better kicking range, which Liam mistakes for interest.

"Look, Hannah accepted my friend request."

"Brilliant," Louis says dryly, because Liam looks expectant. Ever since they made a pact to stay One Direction no matter what happened - which was last week, when they’d become certain they were going to be eliminated first thing - Liam made it his personal mission to collect all of their family and friends into one orgiastic mass on Facebook. Niall shares his enthusiasm, but Louis can’t very well blame Niall for being Niall, so he takes his annoyance out on Liam instead.

"She’s well fit, mate," Liam says as he scrolls, giving Louis a meaningful look.

Louis rolls his eyes. “If you’ve quite finished drooling over my girlfriend—”

There’s movement. Louis glances over at Harry just in time to see his eyes before they snap back down to his mobile, and all at once it’s as though Louis’ skin’s been electrified, every little hair on his body snapping to attention. Harry fumbles with his phone and it feels absurdly like winning.

"You have to admit she’s out of your league, mate," Niall pipes up, and Liam mutters in agreement. Louis drags his eyes back to the computer screen, where Liam’s going through Hannah’s photo album. He pauses on a recent pic of her by the pool, arms thrown around a boy Louis might recognize but doesn’t know.

"Who is that?" Liam squints. "Should I add him?"

"Dunno.” Harry’s foot drags down the wall as he straightens. Louis resists the urge to just—grab him, haul him in, yank on his stupid curly hair and make him yell. It takes a while for Liam’s second question to catch up to him. “ _No,_ Liam, bloody hell! What’s wrong with you?”

"All right, all right, no need to get tetchy." Liam pats him companionably on the arm. Louis turns to give him a look. "I’m sure it’s nothing."

"What are you on about now?"

"With Hannah and this bloke," Liam says slowly, as though he’s explaining something to a child. Louis doesn’t put him in a headlock, and that says a lot about how he’s matured. "I mean, no need to be jealous. I’m sure it’s just, like, friendly."

The thought is so absurd that Louis can’t help laughing. “What? I’m not _jealous._ I don’t get jealous.”

He’s never been the type, not even when he and Hannah had been in the thick of things and dating properly, much less with the odd on-off thing they’ve got going now. It’s just never struck him, and until now he’d—well, he’d never had any reason to wonder why.

Liam nods. “You have nicer arms,” he says carefully, like he thinks that’s what Louis needs to hear to snap out of his jealous rage.

"And arse!"

"Thank you, Niall," Louis says, because he’s not wrong, and takes a quick, casual spin to check Harry’s reaction. But the corner’s empty, with only a little scuff mark to show for his presence. Louis has to dig fingernails into his palm to keep from jumping up and finding him, because Harry drives him fucking crazy.

“I don’t know about that,” Liam’s saying. “You can’t see his arse in this pic—”

Louis tunes him out. “Shut up, Liam. Where’s Harry gone off to?”

“You can see enough of it,” Niall argues, snapping to attention when Louis gently prods him with a toe. “He went upstairs, didn’t he? Dunno, I didn’t see. Upstairs, probably.”

Louis stills his jiggling foot and manages to count to forty-five before going after him.

* * *

Harry’s in the ensuite, and he’s got Louis up against the wall before he can even get a word in. 

It’s not a good idea to do this with Zayn on the other side of the door, even if he does sleep like the dead, but Harry’s mouth is hot and so wet, like he’s been waiting, counting down the seconds as Louis had been. He bites Louis’ lip when they pull back to take a breath, and it hurts just enough to have Louis’ cock throbbing.

“I don’t _get_ jealous,” Harry mocks, pitching his voice higher, and Louis kisses him to hide the way his face flushes.

“Not like you do, Curly,” he says, and it’s a lie, the worst lie he’s ever told, and the look on Harry’s face says he knows it. He evades a kiss and tucks his face into Louis’ neck instead, biting at the hinge of his jaw and the sensitive patch of skin just underneath. They’re not supposed to leave marks—they know better, they do—but it’s hard to remember why when they’re alone and the sound of their hearts beating drowns out everything else.

The tiles are cold at Louis’ back but Harry’s burning up and Louis can feel the bruise form as he works his mouth.

“Harry—fuck, stop.” Louis tugs him away by the hair and Harry slumps against him like someone cut his strings, but his mouth purses, petulant. “You know she’s not really my girlfriend.”

“She was,” Harry says, and then, after a silent struggle: “Everyone thinks she is.”

Louis’ heart is pounding so hard it’s a miracle it hasn’t brought the house down. He wants to ask. _You wanna be my girlfriend, is that it?_ But his mouth is dry and throat tight and he doesn’t even know if he can get all the words out, if he can laugh about it afterwards. If he can say it and not give everything away.

“You fucked her,” Harry says quietly, close enough for their lips to brush. The back of Louis’ neck goes hot and he can’t think of a single thing to say, because Harry turns him into a fucking idiot. He lets Harry pin his arms up above his head and dig his teeth into the curve of his bicep, the bite punishing before it eases into a slow, sweet suck. It starts to sting before Harry lets up, sore and an angry purple-red already.

“Happy now?” Louis manages, and Harry nuzzles into his armpit, sliding big, warm hands up Louis’ shirt.

“I like your body,” he mumbles, tugging at Louis’ belt. “Your arms and—”

“Oi!” Louis grabs his hands and draws them up between their chests. “Hands above the waist, Styles. ‘m not that kind of girl.”

Harry frowns and looks like he’s about to whine, so Louis kisses him again, slow and slick. He squeezes Harry’s wrists when he tries to pull away, and the catch of their mouths turns frantic, like Harry’s just realized this is all he’s going to get, and they haven’t got much time left. They’ve been in here too long already, and telling Harry he can’t touch is the easiest way to get the upper hand, because he’ll give right in, like Louis just has to say it and he’ll do it, no matter what it is.

Louis doesn’t always know what to do with him. What he wants. How to touch him. Harry’s sixteen and it seems like he’s done everything already, and Louis hasn’t even put his hand on another bloke’s prick. That he might do it wrong, somehow, make a mess of things before they’ve even gotten a chance to settle, makes his heart crawl up into his throat. He wants it so badly, but wanting’s never, ever been enough, so for now he fits their legs together and rocks his thigh up, catches Harry’s gasps in his mouth.

“Louis,” Harry whines into the kiss, working his hips in short, uneven bursts. “Lou, I don’t want to come in my pants again.”

“So don’t,” Louis says, and Harry shudders once, hard, before going still. Louis keeps rocking their hips together, dizzy from the almost-but-not-quite, and it takes Harry’s nails digging into his arms to realize that he’s not moving, eyes squeezed shut and panting like he’s trying not to come. “Fuck. Harry—”

It takes everything in him to break them apart, but he does, dropping a hand down to cup his own cock while he watches Harry palm his. They must look ridiculous, two feet of space between them and feeling themselves up through their trousers like they’ve never fucking wanked before. Harry’s eyes are glassy. Louis can’t stand not touching him.

“Were you going to go out like this?” Louis asks, and Harry squeezes his cock roughly.

“Not like _this._ ” He swallows and looks at a spot over Louis’ shoulder, face so red that Louis’ burns in sympathy. “What? Dared me, didn’t you?”

Louis hadn’t, actually. “Dare you to come here, then.”

“Why?” Harry demands, but he’s already moving, stepping on Louis’ feet and nudging their noses together. “Are you going to touch me now?”

“Yeah,” Louis says, “might get you to shut up, huh,” and cups Harry’s cock, works it through the fabric so he can get away with being clumsy. Heat bleeds through and sears Louis’ palm, even with all the layers, and the shape of him is unfamiliar. Louis’ mouth starts to water and it startles him into squeezing harder than he would have, but Harry just moans softly, like he’s been wounded. His hands are planted firmly on Louis’ waist—bastard, _bastard—_

“Are you going to fuck me? Like you fucked—”

Louis doesn’t let him finish, kisses him hard and mean, but he can’t stop him from coming. By the time Louis gets himself off riding Harry’s thigh, come has seeped through Harry's trousers and he’s left three more bruises on the inside of Louis’ arm.

“Happy now,” he says, smiling _that smile,_ and Louis has to kiss him, and kiss him, and kiss him.

* * *

After dinner, Louis finds them all crowded around the computer again, with Liam in the chair and Harry’s half on his lap. 

“I can do whatever I want, Liam,” Harry’s saying, and Louis can hear the smile in his voice. “Look at that. You’re my grandfather now. Accept it, please.” 

“I will not,” Liam says, and eyes Louis warily when he leans over the back of the chair to see the screen. Facebook again.

“Don’t worry, I know his password,” Louis lies, and watches Harry dimple while Liam sputters. He reaches out to tug on a stray curl, because he can’t help it, butterflies rioting in his belly. He doesn’t know how he keeps his voice steady. “What’s all this, then?” 

“Lies,” Liam says grimly.

Harry shrugs. “Housekeeping.”

On the screen, it says, _Harry Styles is now in a relationship._

**Author's Note:**

> originally posted on [tumblr](http://eleadored.tumblr.com/post/105648229456/would-you-maybe-write-more-txf-fic-like-in-the). thanks for reading.


End file.
